


Asylum

by nishizono



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-24
Updated: 2010-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:04:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishizono/pseuds/nishizono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither of them belong there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asylum

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** None of these characters are mine, nor am I being paid to play with them. All characters depicted in sexual situations are considered by the author to be over the age of eighteen, regardless of their age in the source material.

  
"Neither of us belong here, you know."

Sherlock is sitting on his bed with his back against the wall, eyes closed, knees drawn up to his chest. It's night and the sky outside is overcast. He doesn't know what time it is; there are no clocks nearby, no watches, not even the dripping of a faucet to help him count the seconds. Sherlock forces himself to breathe through the panic.

"How long do you think it will take them to diagnose you? Do you think they'll do it quickly, just to have something to write in your file, or do you think they'll drag it out? I can't _wait_ to see what they come up with. Should we take bets?"

His roommate's voice is softer than it had been in the world outside; it's lost that high-pitched, nasal quality and deepened to a teasing purr that makes Sherlock want to actually listen to what he's saying. Sherlock isn't sure which is worse: being annoyed or being seduced.

"You know it hurts my feelings when you ignore me."

Sherlock opens his eyes and stares through the semi-darkness at Moriarty, who is pouting at him from the the other narrow bed across the room.

"Tsk, tsk, you should know better by now, snookums. I won't go away just because you pretend I don't exist."

"You _don't_ exist," Sherlock tells him.

Moriarty smiles at him, lazy and just a little bit sly. "And how do you know I _don't_ exist, lover?"

Because you're dead, Sherlock thinks. Because the real Jim Moriarty died the night of the explosion; DNA, dental records, one fingerprint, fingertips, hands, bones, fragments of a skull and all those pieces that Sherlock had seen and thought oh what a waste of such an incredible, exceptional mind, and he'd wanted to stop and touch it, gather it all into one place and fit all the pieces back together again, make it whole, make it right, solve the puzzle...

Sherlock closes his eyes again, breathes, and murmurs, "How do you know that you _do_?"

Moriarty's delighted laughter echos off the walls of their tiny cell, and Sherlock measures it in heartbeats.


End file.
